Four Times Sally Couldn't Get A Date
by SallySorrell
Summary: (and the one time she could.)
1. Chapter 1

Sally set the phone down, clacking her fingernails nervously against it, just as Buddy arrived in the office. He watched her, while hanging up his hat and coat.

"What are _you_ on time for?" she began.

He glanced at at his wrist, peeling back the shirt-cuff.

"Hmm. Watch must be fast." He approached the piano, while resetting the minute-hand, "Who was that, on the phone?"

"My Aunt Agnes. She's short two people for her Bridge Night."

"And you're rotten at Bridge."

She raised an eyebrow, shaking one flat hand, and muttering 'so-so.'

"So...?"

"So she's counting on me to fill in."

"What sort of dress do you have that'll fill two seats, Sal?"

Sally slammed a finger over his lip.

"Well, I was going to invite _you,_ if you'll stop talking."

"No promises."

Both of them turned to watch the door open; Sally drew her finger away.

"Morning, Rob," they said, together.

"Morning, Gang. Sorry I'm late..." he looked at his watch, while digging internally for excuses, "I'm not late; I'm on time. _You're_ early."

He sat at the desk, in quiet contemplation, while Buddy continued, making his way to the couch.

"I thought your Aunt Agnes wasn't too fond of fellas… what's that thing she's always saying?"

"About fellas? She's got a bunch, but my favorite has to be, 'A bachelor is like a staircase. Always take the elevator.'"

Rob tiptoed into the conversation:

"What's that one supposed to mean, Sal?"

"I dunno, but I figure he's an elevator," she said, tossing her thumb over her shoulder at Buddy, "so I'm taking him."

"Wow," said Buddy, "I'm really moving up in the world."

Sally groaned, until he thought to add, "I'm _Sally's_ date!"

* * *

Vonnie Something-or-other met them at the door, shaking hands with each of them only once. Sally suspected this was a distant cousin, as she did not bother introducing herself with a surname, and shook hands in the same weak way Aunt Agnes would.

They encountered her next, with Buddy sidestepping out from behind Sally, swiping off his hat and wondering whether or not he should bow to Aunt Agnes. 'Just a little', he'd suggested to Sally in the car on the way over. She shrugged, and that was all.

He understood now that she must've meant 'no', as Aunt Agnes looked him over, then glared briefly at Sally.

"And this is..." Her voice did not even hint at this being a question. Buddy rolled together every impression Sally had ever given him about Aunt Agnes, and decided it would be best if he introduced himself.

"Buddy Sorrell," he said, ready for the weak, single-pump handshake, "Sally told me you were two players short. Thought we'd try our best to even out your table."

"Oh, yes," lulled the woman, "Sally's told me a lot about you."

"All good things," Sally added eagerly.

Vonnie moved in to join the conversation, offering Aunt Agnes a cup of coffee. Every strand of Vonnie's hair was pinned tightly back behind jeweled clips, but that didn't stop her reaching to reset it between words.

"How long have you two been-?" she began, innocently enough.

Buddy and Sally only needed to look at each other for a moment, not even fully turning their heads, before answering in sync:

"We work together."

Buddy then quickly added that he'd never played Bridge before, which Sally knew was only partially true. He had never played Bridge _successfully_ before, or she would've heard about it. She did not correct him.

Vonnie grinned and laughed, mostly hoping this would serve as an apology for her earlier question, and led them all to the table. She introduced her fiance, placing way too much emphasis on the word ' _my_ ' as she said it, causing Bill - the man in question - to reach the same misunderstanding.

"And yours?" he said, leaning in to Buddy with some undeserved but appreciated familiarity. Buddy shrugged at Sally. Her turn.

"I'm Sally, one of Agnes's nieces. This is Buddy."

And again, "We work together."

"That's how I met my Vonnie," said Bill, nudging Buddy's elbow, "There she was, setting up the coffee for _three_ years before I noticed just how pretty she was!"

"We're co-writers," said Buddy, always determined to see Sally get the credit and respect she deserved.

"We, umm..." Sally didn't find the end of the joke she was looking for, "We trade off, buying coffee and all."

Vonnie noted that this _may_ be improper, drawling 'may' in a way that made it sound clearly and inexcusably so to the rest of the table. Except Aunt Agnes, who said, 'fine.' In general, she didn't approve of fellas, and, of course, this meant she didn't care for the times Sally behvaed like a fella. Which was reduced by half, now, apparently, if Buddy was willing to admit as much. Fine, indeed. Not better or worse.

During the game, they worked silently on their strategy to leave as early as possible. The questions kept hitting them.

"How long have you been married?" the man sitting between Bill and Buddy asked, indicating Buddy's wedding ring.

Sally did not hear him fully, and instead answered that they'd been together nearly eight years, now.

 _"_ Working," Buddy added. No one cared to hear.

Sally had her hand on his shoulder, in a way that said exactly when she wanted to leave. He studied her face, starting at her mouth and working upward, and they settled on how.

Her hand returned to his shoulder, just as the first round ended. They stood, Buddy checking his watch, and Sally offering Aunt Agnes a kiss on each cheek.

"Where are you two off to so early?" Vonnie begged, again dragging out the words to give them an entirely different meaning.

"We've got dress rehearsals tomorrow, bright and early," Sally explained, with Buddy nodding along, "Buddy's house is on the other side of Sixth."

Bill agreed that this was far away; Sally was pleased with herself. She shepherded Buddy to the door, insisting it was another half-hour to her house from there, that _yes_ she had driven them both over, and that _no_ , they didn't actually live together.

"Whew," said Sally, causing Buddy to volunteer to drive.

"At least to my place," he said, "Unless you can clone me on the way there, I'd drive you home too. You look beat, Sal."

"It's exhausting, basically babysitting her like that. And all those questions."

Buddy laughed, easing her into it, too. He started the car and backed out of the driveway before continuing.

"It could be worse. I imagine they're usually all asking what you're still doing single."

" _Still_?" she smacked his arm, "I _know_ you know how old I am."

"Must've been a nice change, regardless. Nobody poking at you or whining or your hair or dress or something, and asking where your husband is. Then apologizing and stepping down onto..." his impression of Vonnie was almost too natural, "fiance, boyfriend, _anyone_ , Sal?!"

"Because there's gotta be _someone_ ," Sally proceeded, feigning the same singsongy voice. Then she rolled into her own, "And they've all figured out Mr. Henderson is just my cat, by now. What a life, huh?"

He drummed nervously on the steering wheel

"Honestly, Sally," and she knew from this that he was completely serious, "I didn't mind. Happy to help, if all it takes is showing up."

He wondered why relationships and looks were all anyone would discuss with Sal, while the same people were more than happy to ask about his job and achievements. If he just had to _be_ there, standing slightly behind her and coughing quietly whenever he was mentioned in a way she deserved a share of, he would go anywhere with her.

He summarized these feelings, into an overly dramatic, "The nerve of some people."

Sally chuckled.

"And of us."

"But we'll be ready for next time, won't we?"

She glanced at her shoes, and decided to slip them off. Then she crossed her legs, leaning back and making herself comfortable in the seat she never before had the luxury of using.

"Yeah. Thanks, Buddy."


	2. Chapter 2

Rob fiddled constantly with the envelope, waiting until Buddy begged to know what was in it. Sally had gone to collect their lunch, which had been dropped off at reception by mistake, after pocketing a quarter from each of her co-workers.

"You remember what these are, don't you, Buddy?" Rob asked. The other writer hardly turned to look at him.

Rob knew he had to make the contents seem impossibly unique and valuable, or Buddy wouldn't take his offer. And their jobs depended on him taking it, Rob knew. Although they were equally in danger if Buddy took it and behaved like himself, at the event. Rob did not yet have the chance to plan that far ahead. Which meant asking Sally.

"Tickets," said Buddy, "or invitations. That awards night Alan's making you turn up at, right?"

"I'm not just turning up," Rob replied, adopting a higher-class accent as he tugged at his tie, "There's dinner and all. Six courses, I believe."

Buddy nodded. Sally returned with their lunch, which he immediately called 'about half a course.'

"Will you go, though, Buddy?" Rob continued, waiting for Sally to urge him on too, "I hate to cancel, and Alan would _kill_ me if no one showed up."

"What's all this about?" Sally began, although she was fairly certain of the topic already.

"Evening Entertainment's Annual Awards Dinner," Buddy's voice was flat and unimpressed.

"That could be fun," Sally said, "Why aren't you going, Rob?"

"You're not gonna ask why Alan isn't going, first?"

"Ehh," said Sally. Buddy agreed.

"Ritchie's play is tonight. I've missed the last two. No, three."

The others nodded.

"Why are you sending _him_?" Sally asked, jabbing a finger at Buddy. He agreed, saying Alan would never trust him enough before, nor forgive him sufficiently afterward, "I think I can make it tonight too, Rob. If it's no trouble."

"None at all," Rob sighed in relief, "Thanks, Sally."

* * *

The woman seated at the table behind them wore a red evening gown, about seven shades brighter than the gentle maroon of Sally's - and the bow-tie Buddy wore to match. She patted their seats as they found them and prepared to sit down.

"Ahem," she said, until they both turned to face her, "These are reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Alan Brady."

"Yes," Buddy answered, "We're h-"

"And _I_ 've seen enough of him on the television to know you aren't him. Are you, by chance, Mrs. Brady, ma'am?"

Sally held one hand, embarrassed, over her heart, and said she was not.

"Sally Rogers," she said, "One of his writers. Mr. Brady couldn't make it tonight. This is Buddy Sorrell… he and I are here on Alan's behalf."

The woman responded with a 'tut-tut' sort of noise as she nodded, and reached to shake their hands. She introduced herself as Eva Parkinson, of channel seven's Sunday Jazz Hour. Buddy desperately hoped she would stop speaking to them, as he watched Sally laugh nervously at everything she said. Sally said 'me too' more than normal, too, as he knew for a fact she did not organize Tupperware parties or participate in church bake sales, and she _especially_ wasn't missing her fiance overseas.

"What was that for?" Buddy asked, nudging her as they _finally_ sat down at their table.

"Oh, I ruined our game didn't I?"

"Maybe she'll be the only one to talk to us, anyway. Do you think Alan won anything?"

"No. He'd be here if he thought he had a chance. I'd say he's protesting."

"Fair enough," shrugged Buddy, "I would, too."

She answered with a halfhearted glare.

There were a few others at their table. Most were dark haired men in dark suits, who talked in loud, smooth voices. They were news presenters. One woman sat across from Sally, feeling completely alone and not even noticing Sally, except for the fact she wasn't clad in shiny black. She hosted a children's program, one of the indistinguishable men said. She did not talk to them, as she felt it would be rude to talk across the table.

Buddy was surprised to find the exact opposite of the assumptions they garnered at Aunt Agnes's card night. No one seemed to think he and Sally were even at the event together. Some, who recognized his name when he introduced himself, knew he wrote for Alan Brady, and that was all anyone said. The conversations were as vague and vain as only entertainers could endure. But Buddy and Sally were thankful, regardless, when the lights dimmed and the presentation began.

Eva nudged them before the first category was announced, mouthing along with 'Best Hour of Music or Variety Programming.' Sally assumed this meant they were competing, but was unconcerned. She did not expect Alan to win anything, and indeed he didn't.

This allowed Sally and Buddy to sit quietly, free of stress, enjoying their meals and joking at the expense of other people's uninspired conversations. Buddy was only asked to introduce 'the woman beside' him once, and carefully did so.

"I'm her date," he said, as usual. Never, "She's _mine_."

He knew very well that he was only there because she was, and if they hadn't been _there_ , they would be somewhere else together. It wasn't hard to find a place to do dinner when they were in the city; after nearly a decade of working together, they had several favorites.

They left early, hoping to catch ice cream at one of their favorite stops before it closed for the evening.

"Can you believe how boring they were, for a bunch of entertainers?" Sally asked, peeling back the paper from her ice-cream cone, "I only got one chance at lying about us, and I blew it."

"You told plenty of good ones."

"It's tougher, when it's all strangers. I like a good balance."

"So it falls somewhere between lying, and being an entertainer."

"Right."


End file.
